Today, I turned I’ve hours in Wal-Mart into a couple of sizeable steps on my journey.
Thinking in the pouring rain and then the fourth aisle (for the third time), it was a happy Mother’s Day.
In two days I’ll be a happy public servant. My friends have elections to win, and I want to stand helpfully political by their side.
Smoke billows from the incense like dog fur growing,
The diamonds and four-sided stars putter and cough,
As a swirling gale from five feet away comes to snatch the fur in a circling whirlwind.
It hangs in the air and sticks to the wind like glue,
Giving it a definition I never thought of.
I look around my room. Shoe-hangers, instrument corners, and some god-blessed open space.
This place has a definition I never thought of.
Perhaps the elements play darts with the two pairs of flip flops that face
The blusters coming from the open window across the room,
A smidge less than twenty feet away.
A wind spitball hits me as I type that.
Everything’s doing fine.
This isn’t foreshadowing any other June horror stories.
I’ve got my peace.
So maybe I need to run and give it to others.
What was Tim’s last name again?